


Don’t Get Soaked

by Noelliza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I am just using Sue’s character in this, I am sparing you from Rachel Berry and Will Schuester, I would never do that to you, M/M, Minor Draco/Theo, Not Epilogue Compliant, Quidditch, Slytherins Being Slytherins, They get a lot of screen time because I adore them so much, This is not a glee crossover do not fear, Trust me it’ll be funny, Water Guns, just a few subtle glee references, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29235228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelliza/pseuds/Noelliza
Summary: What better way to bond a bunch of traumatized 19 year-olds fresh out of a war than to host a game of water gun assassin at Hogwarts? At least, that’s how Sue “C’s” it.An eighth year story in which chaos ensues, Draco tires of Pansy dragging him into drama, Potter is an insufferable prat who won’t leave Draco alone, Coach Sylvester is on a rampage, the Slytherins get up to mischief, and the students get very, very wet.
Relationships: Blaise Zabini/Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, kidding but not really
Comments: 25
Kudos: 18
Collections: Valentine's day 2021





	1. Let the Games Begin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HelloItsNoOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloItsNoOne/gifts).



> Prompt: Assassins game in Hogwarts. Each person gets a name. A target. But they don’t know who has their name. Boom chaos for weeks. 
> 
> Happy Valentine’s Day! So I decided to write this about 10 days before the deadline (I know, last minute. I like to live life on the edge, what can i say). I’ll be updating this with more chapters very soon. Just a heads up that I have included Sue Sylvester from the show Glee in this story, but don’t worry, I am not making this a total crossover story with all the Glee characters. Rachel Berry will not be showing up to the Great Hall to do an impromptu performance of “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” I promise. I just thought Sue’s personality would be a funny addition to the story. Also just to clarify, this “assassin” game involves no real killing of any kind, this is meant to be pure fluff (and just a tiny bit of angst for plot development). 
> 
> Now, I need to give a HUGE special thank you to the lovely Jaz for this amazing prompt, I hope you like this story! Also, thank you [nargle_42](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/nargle_42/pseuds/nargle_42) for beta-ing this chapter, you were incredibly helpful! 
> 
> Also, just wanted to give a quick TW for a brief mention of sexual assault.
> 
> Ok, enough of my rambling, please enjoy the first chapter!

“I hate this.”

“Draco shut up before I hex you,” Pansy spits in a furious whisper, ”And this time, I won’t grow your eyebrows back.”

Draco groans.

“I just don’t understand why they’re bothering—“

“Would you rather rot at the Manor?”

Draco doesn’t deign to respond because they both already know the answer to that question.

He turns his attention stubbornly to the fireplace of the eighth year common room where McGonagall—the new headmistress—is standing, waiting with practiced patience for the students to settle. How this woman has yet to lose her mind from a career of enduring hundreds of rambunctious children nine months out of the year is beyond his intellectual capacity.

“Good evening, I hope you all have had a relaxing week back at Hogwarts. I understand how difficult this time must be for everyone, so once again, I want to express my appreciation to all of you for returning here to complete your NEWTs. Your dedication to your studies is not lost on me.”

Draco barely resists rolling his eyes. He knows this is directed at the Golden Trio. She might as well say it out loud, and praise them once again for saving the entirety of the Wizarding World. 

“Now, this year our goal is to promote inter-house unity in order to create a more positive and inclusive environment for the students at Hogwarts. Over the years, we have failed to recognize the vast division between the different houses, and I am here to reestablish friendly competition among all the students. As the oldest at the school, you are all expected to participate in this campaign, both in and out of the classroom. If, for example, you’re a Ravenclaw and see that a younger Slytherin classmate has dropped all their books, I expect you to lend them your help.”

“As a way to put this into motion, you will each take part in a fun competition that I am confident will be a delight for you all.”

Draco doesn’t bother holding back the eye roll this time. Pansy elbows him without breaking eye contact with McGonagall. After her actions during the battle of Hogwarts, she is determined to get back on everyone’s good side in order to diminish her image as a snobby pureblood. Draco can’t find it in himself to begrudge her for that, but he doesn’t plan to join her. He knows that no matter what he does, he’ll be known as the boy who brought death eaters into Hogwarts for the rest of his life. There’s nothing he could do to repair his image, and he has accepted that. Draco merely plans to get the best NEWT grades possible to have the chance to find a decent job. 

McGonagall sends him a glare that in all the years he’s been at this school, has never failed to frighten him into obedience. Without hesitation, Draco immediately fixes his features into a neutral expression and faces her attentively. 

A scoff is heard a few seats over and Draco doesn’t have to look to know it’s Weasley being a git. McGonagall turns her reproving gaze to Weasley, which quickly wipes the disdain from his face and replaces it with fright. She pauses for a beat longer before addressing the rest of the common room once again.

“After deliberating with the other faculty members and gathering ideas from a few students—“

Just say Granger, he thinks bitterly. 

“—we have decided to have you all participate in a muggle game called Assassin.”

Great, what a wonderful activity to have these students partake in to forget about the war a few months prior. A game that involves murdering one another. 

“I am aware that the name sounds quite alarming, however no real murders will be taking place. In this game, each of you will be given a name of one of your peers, and that person will become your target. I will provide you all with a muggle device referred to as a water gun and you will track your target down and shoot them with water. Once you eliminate your target, you will assume their target. The only way to remain safe is by wearing this hat on your head, and our house elves were kind enough to make them for you all” Professor McGonagall pauses to gesture to a massive, unsightly witch’s hat placed on the coffee table.

The hat is large and pointy with a bell at the tip. Various patterns poorly sewn into the crown of the hat with red, blue, yellow, and green—Draco assumes to represent all four houses in a disturbing way. Around the band are small, sewn figures of the animals of each house—a lion, badger, eagle, and snake. Hanging from the edge are letters that spell out Hogwarts repeatedly around the brim.

When Draco first saw it earlier, he thought it was a tool left behind by the elves that is used to wipe the floors.

“It is your choice if you want to wear it or risk your own vulnerability. The only time you are not permitted to wear it is past curfew outside the common room. Now, I’d like to set some ground rules to prevent any disruptions or injuries occurring,” She pauses, reassessing whether she still held everyone’s attention.

Draco would too if he was in a room full of Gryffindors.

“You cannot go for your target in the Great Hall during meals or in any of your classes. If you attempt to do so, you will be disqualified from the game immediately and will receive detention. You may go after your target during free periods or after classes in the common room, dorm rooms, the halls, bathrooms, and anywhere outside the castle. You will also have free reign in the Library, but do so at your own risk, because if you receive a scolding or detention from Madam Pince, this game will not excuse you from it.”

This sparked a reaction out of everyone as no one likes getting reprimanded by Madam Pince.

After the grumbling settles down, McGonagall continues, “In addition, you may not accio or steal another person’s hat. That will also result in a detention and removal from the game. Understood?”

At everyone’s nods and agreements, Mcgonagall picks up the hat from the table and small pieces of parchment beside it. “I need all of you to grab a quill, because you will each write your names on a piece of parchment and place it into the bag. Then, I’ll walk back around and ask you all to take a name. The person you choose will be your target, and you cannot switch targets with another person. The magic involved will not allow it,” She instructs. McGonagall approaches each student one by one, and they each grab a small piece of parchment from her, and Draco reaches into his bag for a quill. 

“There will be a piece of parchment posted on the wall with all your names and it will update itself when someone is eliminated from the game. When a person is out, their name will be crossed out.”

When McGonagall begins passing out the pieces of parchment, Pansy turns to Draco, bursting with excitement, “This is going to be so fun! I have an excuse to attack people!” She beams, grasping his arm.

Draco shakes his head fondly and laughs, “You’ve never needed an excuse to do that before.”

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” She says playfully, flicking his nose.

Draco belatedly swats her arm and shoves lightly at her shoulder, “I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You love me,” Pansy insists, rolling her eyes.

“I only make you think that.”

McGonagall clears her throat as she stands in front of him holding the parchment. Draco turns and accepts the parchment doing as she says. Draco stares down at the elegant scrawl of his name, mystified that he will be taking part in an activity so ludicrous. He quickly places the piece of parchment back in the hat without a word, leaning back into the couch with a huff.

“While pursuing your target, the magic from your signatures will prevent you from using any spells to apprehend them. This also applies to the person being pursued. Only the water gun may be used in the process of capturing your target,” McGonagall says, “everyone please pick one from the bag, but do not look inside,” she finishes as she begins to circle to room again, having the students take a name from the hat.

This doesn’t really pertain to Draco, because he has too much on the line to be focusing on this game. He can’t slack off on his studies, because he needs to do well on his NEWTs and get a good job. It’s what is expected of him, so personally, he doesn’t have a preference for who his target is. He’s not obligated to go after them if he doesn’t want to. Besides, he won’t have time since he spends most of his afternoons in the library. He would prefer not to upset Madam Pince and feel her wrath because of this ridiculous game. It’s so juvenile—

“Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco startles to see McGonagall holding out the bag, peering down at him with an unimpressed look. He reluctantly reaches into the bag and quickly grabs a name. She continues looking at him for another moment, her face calculating, before continuing on to Pansy. He looks down at the small piece of parchment and unfolds—

Pansy Parkinson

Well, maybe this will be fun after all.

“Who did you get?” Pansy asks eagerly, leaning over to see the name written on the parchment in his hands. Draco hastily crumples it in his hand before incendio-ing it.

“Hey! I can’t tell you, it ruins the point of the game you wench,” Draco defends sharply.

Pansy pouts, leaning back with her arms crossed, “Well, then I’m not going to tell you who I have.” She says defiantly, but Draco isn’t falling for it.

“Exactly. Now you’re catching on,” Draco smirks, poised to stand up, only to be thwarted by Pansy’s yank on his arm.

“Draco, trust me. You’ll want to know now stop being difficult!” Pansy exclaims before leaning in close to whisper, “I have Zacharias Smith.” 

Draco doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s smirking. He almost—almost—gasps in shock, but he refrains at the awareness that Smith himself is sitting at a table near the couch, laughing boisterously with Fletchley.

Pansy knows that Smith is the one person Draco wouldn’t be able to resist going after. Behind Weasley and Potter, Smith is one of the most obnoxious gits to ever exist. When Draco was still a prefect, he gave Smith more detentions than every other person combined, because he never left Draco alone. Smith always cornered him in empty corridors and attacked Draco’s neck with his mouth, firmly grabbing his arse. 

Despite the countless hexes and threats he sent him, Smith never seemed to get the hint that Draco wasn’t interested; nasty, stubby, dirty-blonde Hufflepuffs aren’t his type. Smith could get kissed by a dementor for all he cares, and Pansy shares the same sentiment.

However, Draco must resist participating in this game at all costs for the sake of his future. 

“Actually, no, I don’t care to know. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you,” Draco says, staring ahead into the dancing flames as a distraction. He winces as the fire crackles, but forces himself to concentrate on it, telling himself that it’s not a threat. 

Since the incident in the Room of Requirement, faced with near death, the threat of being engulfed by flames imminent, he jumps at the sight of fire; whether it’s a candle lit on Greg’s nightstand at night or a flaming torch in the corridors. He thinks it’s a stupid thing to fear when he has seen and experienced much worse, but all he can do is try to work through it a little bit at a time. 

Some nights, despite the nightmares that follow, he lights a candle on his nightstand and stares at it for hours until he cries, the rekindling of the memory becoming unbearable. The next morning, Draco always asks himself why he does it to himself, and a small voice rationalizes that he deserves it for what he’s done in the war. Draco can never find it in himself to argue against it.

Pansy shakes his shoulder to reclaim his attention, most likely aware of what he’s doing. He turns to her, shifting his mind back to reality, and almost laughs at the faux annoyance on her face. 

“Save the act. I know you want to help me get him out,” She says firmly.

Draco remains silent for a moment, and he quickly loses his resolve. He’ll just help Pansy get Smith out and then he’ll quit. 

“Fine, let’s get on it then. My dorm, now.” He says definitively, until his plan is rudely interrupted by McGonagall who he forgot is still standing there. 

“Mr. Malfoy, I am sure you have more dire matters to attend to, but I am not quite finished if you could please take your seat for a few more minutes,” she says, 

“Yes Professor,” He replies, returning to his spot on the couch compliantly.

Pansy snorts and Draco subsequently pokes her in the thigh.

“Now, if you could all quiet down for a bit longer” McGonagall starts, “I have appointed our new flying instructor, Madam Sylvester, as the moderator of this event. She should be arriving shortly—“

McGonagall is cut off by the sudden crash of the portrait swinging open, hitting the wall, as the Coach in question walks through it. 

“Alright, you wimpy British geeks, listen up,” Coach Sylvester barks as she stomps up next to McGonagall. She faces them all with a fierceness that Draco feels heavily resembles Snape’s look of contempt. The thought his late favorite professor puts a pit in his stomach.

“This game is a survival of the fittest. Only the strongest will last in this game, so honestly, doormats, you don’t even stand a chance of winning,” She says in the direction of the Hufflepuffs, who frown at her disapprovingly.

McGonagall pointedly clears her throat.

“But yeah, yeah, inter-house unity blah blah,” Coach Sylvester revises, “I want to see all of you looking around every corner. Trust no one. Not even your best friend, because they will stab you in the back.”

She begins to slowly pace back and forth across the hearth, examining the students intently as if she’s a lion stalking her prey. 

“Even in the dead of night, when you least expect it. You’ll be laying in your warm bed, cozy and defenseless, cuddling with your precious teddy bear that your parents gave you when you were a year old, the one that comforts you after a nightmare when BAM!” 

She knocks a book off the nearest table to her, startling the Hufflepuff girls seated there, “they’ll shoot you! No hesitation, friendship completely off the table! If any of you want to even consider winning, you’ll need to eat this game for breakfast, digest it, empty the waste from your system, and repeat the next day. You understand? Good, because I won’t repeat myself.” 

She walks right up to Longbottom, his eyes widening slightly, looking more frightened by her than by the Dark Lord in the flesh. “You hear me Bucky Beaver? Because no one is gonna go easy on you just because you look helpless.” 

“Madam Sylvester!” McGonagall calls in dismay.

But Coach Sylvester doesn’t budge, and Longbottom takes a moment to collect himself, narrowing his eyes into a defiant glare, “If I could kill a bloody twelve-foot snake with the Sword of Gryffindor, then I think I can handle myself in this game, Madam Sylvester,” He responds boldly, not breaking her gaze. Draco hears a few giggles come from the table of Hufflepuff girls, and that seems to put the growing smirk on Longbottom’s face.

Draco is impressed, although not too surprised by Longbottom’s dauntless behavior. During the final battle, Longbottom finally grew into his Gryffindor shell when he charged into the fight, battling dozens of Death Eaters before slaying Nagini. Despite still acting a bit shy at times, nothing seems to intimidate him anymore. Draco doesn’t blame him though. If he had defied the Dark Lord to his snake-like face, declaring that he would join him when hell freezes over, he too would no longer find anything else to be even remotely terrifying.

Madam Sylvester—or Coach Sylvester as she prefers to called—holds her intense stare a beat before walking to the bags she brought with her placed in front of the fireplace. 

“Good. So, here are your weapons and your—you call these hats Minerva?—hats. And if I see any of you sissies wearing those godawful things and cause my eyes to bleed, I won’t hesitate to make fun of you. I might even throw pumpkin juice in your face. Who knows. Depends on if one of my first years falls off their broom that day,” She says, walking back to grab her bags in front of the fireplace.

“By the way,” Professor McGonagall cuts in as Coach Sylvester passes the supplies out, “the water guns have been spelled to automatically refill themselves so, to the muggleborn students, no, you will not have to do it manually each time they empty. To the Purebloods, all you have to do to squirt the water is point it at your target and pull the trigger with your index finger. That will push the water out of the nozzle towards your desired person at about six feet maximum,” She informs.

Draco can speak English, French, and even a bit of Gobbledegok, which he overheard from the goblins his father spoke to when he was a child, but he still has no idea what Professor McGonagall just said.

“What is this nonsense she—“

“Who said you could talk, Count Dracula?” Coach Sylvester spits, pointing her finger in his face.

Draco shuts his mouth and sends her his most scornful glower. Who does she think she is? He isn’t going to let some old hag in a hideous tracksuit intimidate him.

Abruptly, she jerks forward as if to attack and Draco flinches away towards Pansy, moving her body in front of him. Coach Sylvester smirks before leaning back up, facing the rest of the students again.

Draco releases Pansy as she grumbles at him in offense. His scowl deepens from his embarrassment and he crosses his arms. He’s not afraid of her. He just can’t afford to ruin his perfectly sculpted nose is all.

“Wait, but do we get anything if we win?” Blaise shouts from the other side of the room. He, Theo, Greg, and Millie are loitering by the portrait in typical Slytherin fashion; standing closest to the nearest exit in case of the need to flee. In this case, with Coach Sylvester present, Draco deems it warranted. Before the meeting, Pansy insisted the two of them stand there with them as well, but he refused to give up the comfort of the couch.

McGonagall, who no longer looks very pleased, says “The last student remaining in the game will win 100 galleons and a year long supply of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, provided generously by Madam Rosemerta.”

The common room erupts in excited whispering, which is quickly interrupted by Coach Sylvester.

“Alright, it’s game on, starting tomorrow morning at 7 am sharp. Get your stuff and get out of my face.”

When no one moves, Coach Sylvester stalks out of the room, shoving Zacharias Smith into a bookcase in the process.

The common room remained silent for a moment before conversation broke out, the loud buzz filling the room. Draco quickly sets the hat on the floor and examines the strange object in his hands. It’s small, bright green, and has a small lever that looks like you can pull back with a fing—

“Hey! We haven’t started yet, cheater!” Pansy shrieks, smacking him on the arm in retaliation as water drips down her nose.

Draco can’t help but laugh at her pinched expression which earns him another—harder—smack. 

“Sorry, I just had to test it out and figured I’d do so on something not worth any value.”

As Pansy begins to rail on him he feels a hesitant tap on the shoulder and turns to see Greg sitting beside him with a confused look.

“Draco, how do I use this? When I asked Blaise he just shot water at me,” He says defeatedly, and Draco flashes him a compassionate smile, knowing Greg needs it, and shows him his own water gun.

“See this little orange lever here?” He points, looking up at Greg to see if he’s watching. At Greg’s slow nod he continues, “I have brilliantly discovered that if you pull back on it, it releases water. Don’t worry, you can do it too. Look, it’s like this,” He explains and aims at Pansy’s face, the water hitting her on her forehead.

“DRACO!” She screams before attempting to tackle him. 

Draco dodges her attack by moving off the couch, and she falls face first into the arm of the couch, her body laid across Greg’s lap. Draco laughs mockingly while Greg looks equally bewildered and amused at Pansy’s antics.

“Nice try Pans, now get off Greg. He did nothing to deserve such a brutal attack. So, how about you apologize while I go grab some parchment and a quill. Then we can start planning Smith’s demise,” Draco offers. 

Pansy scowls at him before relenting with a nod.

“Perfect, I’ll be back in a moment,” He responds, sending another bright smile to Greg who returns it, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as Pansy crawls off his lap.

As he passes the table containing the irritating trio, he catches part of their conversation, which is not transpiring even remotely quietly.

“—terrifying, she’s bigger than I am!” Weasley whines.

“Stop complaining, Ronald! This game will be good for all of us to bond! I don’t think Millie will be that bad.”

Draco quietly snickers to himself, knowing how incredibly wrong Granger is about that assessment. 

When he’s in the stairwell, out of sight, he chances a glance back at Potter, who looks quite relaxed as he looks down at the name of his target. Draco wonders if the Golden Boy is going to take this game seriously to win and claim the fame once again. It wouldn’t surprise him. He sees Potter glance up at Granger, and Draco presumes she asked him a question.

“Anthony Goldstein. I’m just glad I didn’t get Malfoy,” he hears Potter respond.

Weasley scoffs, “No, I actually wish you did. It’d serve the Ferret right. Show the tosser who’s boss… bloody death eater—”

A ferret? That was one time! He’s not surprised that Weasley is throwing around the fact that he was a Death Eater—he’s not particularly wrong. And of course the Weasel would, because he’s always been such a tactless brute. But calling him a ferret is cruel, especially when he was so viciously abused by Crouch. The bruises on his body from being slammed to the ground didn’t fade for weeks.

Potter laughs.

Something inside Draco drops. He blinks and after a moment, continues up the stairs to his dorm, controlling his breathing. 

A part of him almost wishes that he had gotten Potter as his target so he could finally knock him down a peg. He is so sick of hearing all about how he saved everyone from the Wizarding World from the Dark Lord. Their lives are so insignificant that all they have to discuss is the scrawny bespectacled git and his ability to cast an Expelliarmus charm.

Draco enters his dorm and locks the door behind him with a quick flick of his wand. He stops to think. 

Why not.

“Expecto Patronum.” 

A faint, glow appears at the tip of his wand. He hasn’t been able to ever produce more than that, even while in the best mood.

“Distressed and happy I get the same result. Fantastic.” He mutters to himself, taking note of his utter failure. 

Producing a Patronus is something Draco set his mind to before the start of school. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he came to this decision, but he knows that it’s just something he wants to prove to himself that he can do.

If he can cast a Patronus, maybe he isn’t such a bad person after all.

He is also rather curious what form it would take. He eagerly wants it to be a dragon, as it would be entirely fitting, but he knows the chances are slim.

He has laughed bitterly at the possibility of it being a ferret, which in reality, would make him curse Barty Crouch Jr. for the rest of his life.

Draco flops onto his bed, head first into his pillow. Stupid Potter. It’s not like Draco wanted to part of this stupid game. If only he could strangle the git without being sent straight to Azkaban. He doesn’t care that Potter spoke in his favor at his trial, it doesn’t make up for his irritable nature. His unruly hair and savior complex make Draco want to shove him against the wall and smother him.

It infuriates him that Potter thinks he’s so much better than everyone else. That he just allows people to throw themselves at his feet and praise him, feeding his already massive ego.

Before Draco can doze off into an angry slumber, someone tries to open the door, and bangs on it incessantly when it doesn’t open. 

“Leave me alone!” Draco calls, his voice muffled by his pillow.

He hears an unlocking spell being cast and the door swings open.

“Over my dead body.” Pansy responds impatiently.

“That can be arranged,” Draco grumbles back as she approaches the bed.

Pansy pulls the curtains back abruptly and sits herself onto the bed. 

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you come back downstairs? Greg was worried but I reassured him I would come check on you. Talk to me DD,” She prods. He knows she’s just using his childhood nickname on him to make him talk.

One hot, scorching day when they were eight, they were eating ice cream in the grassy field behind Malfoy Manor. Pansy turned to him, mouth full of vanilla, chocolate swirl, and said, “Draco, you’re my best friend.”

“I know. Who else would play witch salon with you?”

“Hush. Anyway, I should be able to call you something that no one else does. That way I’m special. What about Dragon?”

“Mother calls me that already.”

“Aww, Mommy’s boy!”

“Stop it! I tell her not to but she does it anyway.”

“What about… Dray?”

“No, just Draco.”

“Bo-ring!” She declares

“Then I’ll call you PP, how would you like that!”

Pansy gasped and burst into giggles, “Draco! That’s different. PP is naughty,” she laughs again at the mention of the word, then lights up, “What about DD?”

“Alright, but then I get to call you PP.”

“No! Call me… Pan Pan!”

“Ok fine. But now you have to go flying with me.”

“Let’s go DD!” 

Once they both began Hogwarts, Draco forbade her from using that nickname in front of others, threatening that he would dye her hair bright pink. It didn’t take much for her to comply.

Draco turns over in bed, facing away from her, “Nothing Pan Pan, I’m alright. Just not feeling well.”

“I don’t believe you, insufferable prat.” She says, with no heat behind the words, but doesn’t push the issue. She simply lays beside him and strokes his hair soothingly.

“Help me get Smith out. It’ll be fun seeing him all perturbed.”

“Yeah, alright. Do you still want to plan?”

“Don’t fret your pretty little head DD, we can do that tomorrow. I’ll go tell Greg in a minute.”

Draco makes a soft grunt, before letting her gentle fingers lull him to sleep, his final thoughts before losing consciousness remaining on Potter’s stupid face, lit with joviality towards a joke made at his dispense.


	2. Attack on the Nasty Hufflepuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so I lied. This took much longer to post than I said I would, because I wrote a lot more than I planned to. Thank you [nargle_42](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/nargle_42/pseuds/nargle_42) and incog for beta-ing this chapter! Also, thank you all so much for your kudos and comments, they make my day!! <3
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to all my Theo Thots, so maybe grab something you can squeeze, or a pillow to scream into. Enjoy!

Draco awakes to the aroma of coffee, which he discovers to be coming from a steaming cup on his nightstand. He notices a note placed next to it and reaches for it.

 _Good Morning Sunshine,_ _drink up and put your hat on. If you get eliminated first, I will have no choice but to end our friendship out of sheer secondhand embarrassment._

_\- Your Best Friend of All Time_

Draco rolls his eyes out of fondness and takes a sip of the drink which is, of course, made to his liking. He glances over to the hat, debating if his fifteen year friendship with Pansy is worth humiliating himself. But then he remembers wearing it won’t make much of a difference in his social standing, and promptly places it on his head. 

If this silly game is all it’ll take to make his best friend crack a genuine smile again, then he’ll do it ten times over.

After sipping his coffee in bed for a few minutes, listening to Greg’s soft snores from his bed nearby, Draco makes his way to the bathroom to proceed with his morning routine consisting of skin care and combing his hair. If he’s going to be wearing this hideous accessory all day, then he’s going to at least make sure he looks presentable. 

Blaise is already standing in front of the mirror when he walks in. He’s fresh out of the shower, only a bath towel shielding his modesty. Draco doesn't even blink as he walks in, rolling his eyes as Blaise sends him a charming grin.

At the start of fourth year Draco noticed how Blaise started growing into his large frame, the muscles in his arms and abdomen defined. The first time he walked into the bathroom and saw him unclothed, he had to run to the nearest cubicle. Blaise didn't seem phased at the time, he merely laughed jovially and strode out of the bathroom, leaving Draco to deal with his crisis in private. Blaise was kind enough not to ever mention that calamity to him or anyone else, and Draco was immensely grateful. Knowing his friends, they never would have let him down for that. Especially Pansy.

“Good morning Draco, how are you this fine morning?” Blaise asks as Draco starts combing his hair at the sink beside his.

“As dreadful as every morning.”

“That’s the spirit!” 

“Where’s your hat?”

“There’s no need. Neither you nor Greg are equipped to attack me at this hour, and I already know Theo doesn’t have me. Even if he did, he doesn’t sound too eager to participate in this game.”

Draco wishes he would just learn not to talk so much.

“Lovely.”

“Always such a delight in the mornings,” Blaise says grabbing Draco’s cheek with a squeeze.

Draco sluggishly shoves his hand away with a grunt, “Begone, rodent.”

Blaise has the audacity to laugh.

“As you say, your heinous—” He cuts off, intentionally clearing his throat, “—highness,” He finishes, his tone playful.

Draco ignores the quip and quickly finishes combing his hair in order to get away from him as soon as possible. He hears someone greet him—presumably Theo—as he walks out of the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind him. He doesn't bother turning around to return it though and acts as if he didn’t hear him.

Blaise just _laughs_.

Pansy practically skips over to him when she spots him at the doorway of the common room, her face so young and alive. The bell on her hat rings gently in sync with her steps, and she’s sporting it with pride, as if it’s a new trend she’s setting.

“Good morning darling, enjoying your drink?” She greets.

“Morning Pans, yes, thank you, but the coffee has yet to kick in so if you could lower your voice to a proper level that would be ideal,” Draco responds, resisting the temptation to rub his eyes.

“Ah, I will never tire of grumpy, early-morning Draco,” She says, squeezing his cheek. Pansy laughs as he dislodges her, “Let’s go to breakfast, a nice omelet will do the trick.” 

The pair make their way to the Great Hall, both fashioning their unsightly hats with Slytherin arrogance. Draco tries to blink the sleep from his eyes and adjust to the early morning light passing through the castle windows as they walk through the bright halls. 

Pansy chats Draco’s ear off furiously about frivolous matters ranging from the new designer heels she just ordered to describing in disturbing detail why and how—if drunk enough—she wouldn’t mind having a one night stand with Flitwick; The latter of which startled Draco into alertness, and he suspects that perhaps it was her intent.

As they both walk through the large doors, entering a room full of students, hundreds of eyes lock onto them, faces morphed in bewilderment. It’s a bit refreshing to see them a bit confused at the sight of them rather than with looks of disdain.

However, Draco is not going to wear his hat any longer than necessary—it flattens his normally fluffy hair—so he quickly stuffs it safely into his bag.

As soon as they take their seats at the eighth year table placed at the front of the hall, he tucks into an omelet with vigor. Pansy shakes her head, laughing softly from across the table before placing some eggs and toast onto her plate. After a minute or two of silence, Pansy looks up past Draco with a startled look.

“What crawled up his arse and died?” Pansy asks.

Draco turns around to see Justin Finch-Fletchley with a sour expression and notices a smug looking Finnigan following suit, “And why does Finnigan look like he got his wand polished by someone besides his own hand for the first time?” Draco questions.

“Ew, Draco, please don’t make me lose my appetite,” Pansy pleads, scrunching her face in disgust.

“Oh, like you weren’t just violating my ears a few minutes ago when informing me how you want Flitwick to climb your—“

“Fortunately, I happen to have the answer to both your questions,” Blaise chimes in, appearing suddenly at Draco’s side and sliding into the seat beside him.

“Of course you do,” Draco grumbles into his cup of coffee.

Blaise ignores him as he continues, “A few minutes ago, Finnigan eliminated Fletchley from the game.”

“Already?! It’s been less than an hour!” Pansy shrieks in disbelief, whipping her head to look at Blaise in astonishment.

“Yes, I know. Apparently, Finnigan, in true Gryffindor fashion, is determined to win this poor excuse of a bonding exercise. I’d assume it’s for the free alcohol along with an ego boost…”

“That’s so daft. As if winning this trivial game will be enough to overshadow the unfortunate matter of his lack of height. It’s not worth the sheer degradation.” Draco mutters.

“You’re only saying that because you get your knickers in a twist in the mornings, Draco.” Pansy counters.

“No, I say that as a reasonable person who prefers to get the proper amount of sleep. I’d like to be fully awake for my classes, thank you. And my knickers are _not_ twisted, for your information. They are perfectly unwound.” Draco says haughtily.

Pansy simply rolls her eyes, as she tends to do rather than argue with Draco in the mornings. She knows there’s no point to it; it’s a futile effort. Blaise laughs as he leans in front of Draco to reach for the porridge, which Draco hands to him because he seems to be the only person not determined to irritate him this morning.

“So, you didn’t even tell us,” Pansy says, breaking the silence, “how did he even manage to do that so early in the morning?” Her eyes are still glued to the smirking idiot as he sits down next to Thomas, slapping the palm of his raised hand. Whatever that means.

“Ah, excellent question. You see, he hid in the bathroom connected to his and Fletchley’s room and shot him from behind as he was taking a piss. I can imagine Fletchley wasn’t very pleased to be caught in such a compromising position **.** ”

Draco makes a low noise of agreement as Pansy laughs sardonically.

“On the topic of eliminations, Pansy, what was your plan of action in regards to your target?”

“Hey, you haven’t told me who your target is! Who is it? Do you have _me_?” Blaise gasps dramatically, “What happened to Slytherin loyalty?” He accuses, dropping his utensils with a clatter.

“No, it’s not you, although even as I say that, it could be untrue,” Pansy says slyly and turns to Draco, “But yes, let's meet in your dorm right after Charms so we can brainstorm ideas.”

That’s three whole classes from now. Draco groans in impatience.

“Draco, I know your ability to wait is as long as my hair, but you’ll be alright love,” She soothes, flipping her bob with an affectionate eye roll.

“Speaking of halfwitted Gryffindors, here come two more.”

He watches Potter and Weasley waltz into the Great Hall in true, unbashing Gryffindor fashion, chatting animatedly about Merlin knows what. They’re still wearing those obnoxious hats, the bell on top springing with each step. 

But unsurprisingly, Potty and the Weasel have no sense of self-decency. They both sit at the other end of the table, hats still present as they begin filling their plates with food. Draco scoffs quietly at the sight of them. Unfortunately, Weasley catches his stare.

“Who d’you think you’re looking at _Malfoy_?” Weasley scowls.

Draco hides the shock that courses through him and curls his lip nastily, “You realize the Great Hall is off limits from the game? Unless someone casted a permanent sticking charm on them, in which case please inform me of who, so I can thank them,” Draco taunts.

Potter just looks at him dumbly, of course, with his mouth open while Weasley’s face scrunches in aggravation.

“Sod off, I’m not risking anything, because some of us want to win. How do I know you won't find a way to steal my hat without getting caught?” Weasley snarls, “And you look just as ridiculous in that hat as we do when you have it on you slimy Death Eater!” 

“ _Ron_!” Granger hisses.

“Well, you are risking your last remaining brain cell, Weasley, be careful, otherwise there will be none left for Potter to use,” Draco sneers, watching victoriously as Potter’s face turns indignant, “As for my hair, at least it’s in impeccable condition, unlike your bird’s nest, Potter. And Weaselby, your ginger hair clashes harshly with the four house colors. You look like a christmas tree gone wrong.”

Weasley’s face flushes to a color indistinguishable to his hair, “Well, _you’re_ a pointy, pathetic—”

“You know what Malfoy—” Potter starts.

“Ladies, ladies, you’re all beautiful, no need to fight over the most desirable one present. Everyone knows that would be me,” Blaise cuts in, “Now quiet down and eat your breakfast in peace before Coach Sylvester shows up and breaks you three in half like broomsticks.”

Weasley and Potter both scowl at Blaise before taking their seats on the other end of the table, grumbling lowly to one another.

“Good one Blaise, I’ll have to remember that. Compliment them and then threaten them with Coach Sylvester,” Draco says dryly.

It’s almost as if Draco’s words summon her, because Coach Sylvester herself stalks into the Great Hall seconds after his comment, her stride full of her usual unwavering confidence, as she examines all the eighth years seated at their table. The only people wearing the hats are Potter, Weasley, and of course, Finnigan.

“Ah look what we have here. This is the moment that separates the imbeciles from the losers,” She turns to Weasley, “Carrot head, you look like you’ve sprouted from the ground, ready to get picked and eaten by a group of vegans. Potter, you look like a hairball that’s too big to fit in the trash bin. And Finnigan, you just look more like a gnome than you already do.”

As they gawp at her and the other eighth years stifle their laughs, she continues, her face unimpressed.

“I have half a mind to take them away from you. Make you run a bit to get some exercise. That bacon isn't going to make you any fitter, Weasley.” 

Weasley unconsciously drops the bacon back on his plate as he stares back at her, fear displayed plainly on his face. 

As soon as Coach Sylvester walks off, Draco can't hold back a laugh, which instantly recaptures the attention of the two dunderheads.

“You find this amusing? It’s not like you’re spared from her harassment, _Count Dracula_ ,” Weasley snipes, “And you won’t be laughing when you get eliminated because you forgot to put your hat on your pointy head!”

Yes, as if the game matters in the slightest to Draco. His ego would be thoroughly bruised.

“It’s hardly an insult, Weasley, I’m well aware of my fair, porcelain skin. I prefer it over your abundance of freckles, each one fighting tremendously for a spot on your skin,” Draco sneers, “And we’ll see about that Weasley, you underestimate my abilities.”

Before Weasley can respond, Draco continues, “Now, since I actually study and complete my own homework without leeching off my more intelligent best friend, I am moving to the library, far from you numskulls.”

When neither responds, Draco turns to Pansy and Blaise, “I’ll see you two in a bit,” he says, grabbing a breakfast burrito for Greg before he walks off.

Greg, being an even less fan of the mornings than Draco, needed to be woken up by him every morning. If Draco didn't go in there and spray him with Aguamenti or a similar charm, he most likely would never make it to his first class of the day. During their earlier years at Hogwarts, Blaise always handled it as the only morning person, but he refused to this year, claiming, “Draco, I no longer live with him, and it’s time for you to assume the responsibility of dragging the lug out of bed. It’ll help you grow up a bit.” He reluctantly agreed, but it turns out it hasn’t been too much trouble for Draco. In fact, he takes slight pleasure in his creative tactics to wake Greg from his deep slumber.

“Tell Greg I said good morning and that he needs to brush his teeth before class,” Pansy calls.

“I will carry on the message,” Draco responds over his shoulder.

As he strides off, he can feel the heated glare from behind him. It’s almost too easy to rile up those two; he wants more of a challenge. When he reaches the doors, he stops to place the hat on his head. He turns back to Potter and Weasley with a sly grin and gives them a wink before exiting the Great Hall. 

On top of the motivation for Pansy, now he has an extra motive of staying in the game just to spite Potter and his pet Weasel. He doesn't mind it one bit.

***

“How is it that after everything, Malfoy is still a self-centered prat?” Harry frowns as Malfoy disappears through the doors, furiously fighting the heat spreading in his cheeks. 

“Don’t know, mate. I think he was just born that way. I bet when he came out of his mum, he sneered at the healer who delivered him,” Ron jeers.

Harry laughs at the image of Malfoy startling the poor healer while Hermione glances up from her book, looking unimpressed at the joke. Harry quickly sobers and clears his throat, “There’s got to be a reason. Why is he being so defensive?”

“You know, he wasn’t wrong. It’s a bit ridiculous for you to wear the hats in the Great Hall when it’s off limits to strike at your target,” Hermione points out, “And maybe he’s like that because the two of you won’t leave him alone, so he returns the attack in order to stand up for himself?” Hermione offers, looking at them as if they’re five year olds.

They both pause for a minute, considering.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. He’s just a poncy git,” Ron grumbles through his mouth full of food.

“He’s definitely up to something,” Harry follows, still squinting at the doors.

Hermione lets out a heavy sigh, clearly fed up with them. It doesn’t take much to irritate her when she’s focused on her revision timetable.

Ron suddenly looks up, his eyes widening in disbelief as a thought seems to pop into his mind, “Hey, wait a minute, why are you taking his side in this? Did you somehow forget that he caused—”

“Of _course_ I remember!” She snaps, sending Ron a fierce glare, “But that doesn’t mean we should stoop down to his level and treat him the same as he did us. We would be just as bad as him and all the others who treated people like me horribly,” Hermione softens slightly, “Trust me, I get how hard it is going to school with Malfoy again. You don’t need to forgive him, I haven’t either. He’s still prickly like he used to be. But feeding into the hatred will put us right back where we started. It’s not right to treat him poorly. We’re all just kids who got sucked into this war.”

The boys gape at her, and she sighs again, “Draco actually has the right idea, so I’m going to the library to finish reading. I’ll see you both in Potions,” She stands from the table, kisses Ron’s head, and sends Harry a brief smile before departing, putting her head in her book.

“But… but it’s _Malfoy_.” He sputters, staring after Hermione as she walks out of the Great Hall.

Harry just shakes his head and continues his breakfast.

Ron turns to Harry desperately, “It’s only the second week and we’ve already lost her to her books. Harry we need to do something! It’s been over a week since her and I—”

“Ron, no. I don’t want to hear about that, spare my ears.”

Ron chuckles and punches him lightly, “Hey, ‘s not my fault you’re single. Speaking of, when are you gonna get back with Gin?”

Harry looks up, finding her at the Gryffindor table looking as fiery as ever. Her sleek, red hair reaches down to her lower back now, and her smile is blinding as she laughs at someone’s joke. 

He recalls feeling so enamored by her in sixth year, and how she quickly became the only thought occupying his mind. For those last few, blissful months, all Harry wanted to do was spend every waking moment in her presence, with his hands tangled in her soft hair, taking in her warm, flowery scent. They were the final untainted months he had before everything in his world collapsed as Dumbledore died and the Death Eaters had taken over Hogwarts.

When Harry first left to find the horcruxes, he convinced himself that after the war, he would have Ginny to return to—her warm, familiar embrace. He clung to the thought of her through everything: while camping in the Forest of Dean, stuck in the cellars of Malfoy Manor, sitting on the shore at Shell Cottage, and even in his last lucid moments before embracing death. 

But when he saw her again, blood-stained and exhausted, there was no feeling of utter relief like he had imagined. He thought once he reunited with her, he would feel like a starving man finally receiving a warm meal. Instead he stood before her in Great Hall, the life drained from both of them, and he didn't feel remotely sated.

Later that night, while staying at Gryffindor tower, she had kissed him, pouring a whole year of separation into it, clinging to him like she never wanted to lose him again. But it didn't feel quite the same as it once did. There was no excitement, no invigoration pumping through his veins like he remembered.

It had been just a pair of soft lips locked onto his own.

After a minute, he had carefully pushed her away, claiming he needed to rest. She simply nodded and walked out to find her family and go back home.

He thought perhaps it was because the battle had just ended, and he was too overwhelmed with grief to feel anything else. But then weeks had passed, then months, and he still felt the same subdued affection he had for her before they had dated.

He’s always loved Ginny, but his feelings now lack the intensity they once had. 

Harry doesn't know why he feels this way; there could be several reasons. Maybe the war caused them to grow apart, becoming different people than they once were. Maybe it’s too soon for him to continue dating again, and he can’t process his emotions at the moment. In his darker moments, he also wonders if maybe the fatal spell had also killed a part of him, the part that could love.

But after a long period of introspection at the Burrow this past summer, he’d only come to one conclusion: he doesn't want to get back together with Ginny.

Harry doesn’t want to say that to anyone, however, because the last thing he wants to do while the Weasley’s are grieving Fred’s death is produce any more bad news. Harry knows how much Molly especially loves the idea of him and Ginny as a couple. She even dropped him hints on a few occasions last summer when she caught Harry alone, reminding him of how happy they were when they were together. Each time, Harry indulged her with a smile and nod, unable to cause her any more heartbreak.

Ginny herself hasn’t pushed for anything to happen after the kiss in the common room. He can’t tell if she can tell how he’s feeling and she’s waiting for him to take initiative, or if she feels the same way as him. Harry hopes it’s the latter.

Now, as he sits here peering at her across the Great Hall, he doesn’t feel the compulsion to walk over and greet her with a hug or a kiss like used to at the sight of her.

“I don’t know. I’m still not up for dating right now, so probably not for a while. I just don’t want to hurt her because of my… stuff,” Harry replies awkwardly, still watching her at the Gryffindor table as she flips her hair back.

“It’s alright mate, no pressure, I was just wondering. I think you two really made each other happy.” 

“Yeah, we did.” Harry says absently, _Did._

***

The three hours Draco has had to endure before meeting up with Pansy in his dorm have been nothing short of torture. Draco excels at many things, but patience is not one of them. As someone who was once spoiled with anything a child could ever ask for, and given things the instant he demanded, those skills never quite developed in him. 

He sits in pure agony in his charms class, counting down the minutes and waiting for Flitwick to release them. After Pansy’s comment about the professor’s “appealing stature,” Draco can't look at him the same without picturing horrific images in his mind. Every time Pansy looks up at the board, Draco sends a scowl in her direction, occasionally sticking his tongue out at her if he can get away with it.

Draco also can’t help but notice Potter—who is sitting a few seats over from Pansy—and the way he squints his eyes as he focuses on the words written on the board. He wonders if Potter’s glasses even work for him anymore; he can tell that he’s been wearing the same pair since he was eleven. Draco may have limited knowledge about eyes and spectacles, but he does know that having the same pair for at least 8 years is much too long for anyone. Even the Chosen One.

The round frames also happen to obstruct his wide, blazing green eyes, which never fail to send a chill down his spine upon meeting his gaze. He thinks it's the reason he always sought to agitate him so much in their early Hogwarts days. It’s the one way to get a close view of the piercing stare that ignites every part of his body. A burn that practically swallows him whole. 

This year though, he can hardly bear to meet his gaze as it sparks the familiar fear in his chest, freezing him to the spot. The sight sends him back to the burning room, Draco laying flat against Potter on the broom, clinging to him for dear life. It always takes him several moments to shake those thoughts away once they resurface.

But during this class, he can't resist the urge to look. Even in such a disheveled state with his unruly hair under the pointy hat, his tie severely crooked, Potter is captivating. Draco has no idea why, and it infuriates him. He just wishes Potter would stop being so _him_.

Draco’s thoughts also occasionally involuntarily drift to the library this morning when Granger stomped in, studying furiously at an empty table near his own. The first week of their return, there were a few instances where the two had been there to study at the same time. However, neither dared to do so at the same table as one another. They both had an unspoken agreement to ignore each other without a single glance, and proceed with their revision.

Today was different though; He could feel her stare burning into him, but when he would glance up she would be reading her book once again, as if he had imagined it. It seemed like she was trying to solve him like a puzzle. But unfortunately for her, Draco is not a simple game of wizard’s chess.

As soon as Flitwick dismisses them, reminding them to practice the ascendio charm before next class, Draco throws on his hat and follows Pansy out the door, still glaring at her with utter disdain.

“Draco, what is your _problem_?” She demands, noticing his foul mood. She grabs his arm, gripping tightly as they walk out of the classroom, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you glaring at me all of class.”

“You are mistaken. What I do not have is a problem. What I am experiencing is a catastrophe. A _devastation._ I can’t look at Flitwick anymore without imagining him riding—”

“None of that now,” Pansy dismisses, wacking her hand carelessly against his chest, “We have important business to discuss in just a minute, if you have managed to forget about.”

Draco huffs “Of course I didn’t” he grumbles quietly. They both walk the rest of the way to the common room in companionable silence.

As they settle themselves onto Draco’s bed, Pansy turns to him with zeal.

“Ok, first order of business, I gathered some new information for you after you left breakfast this morning.”

“Did someone finally turn Weasley into an actual Weasel?” Draco asks hopefully.

“No. When Potter suggested you were up to something and Weasley was insulting you, Granger practically told them where they can shove it. She said it’s not right to treat you so harshly after everything that happened last year, which I actually agree with. She did mention though that she hasn’t forgiven you yet.”

“Ah, of course it was about me. Those two couldn’t keep my name out of their mouths if you threatened to banish them to Antarctica.”

“Hilarious Draco, I’m rolling on the floor,” Pansy says dryly.

“I recommend you don't, that would be entirely uncouth of you,” Draco says, keeping his face neutral.

Pansy doesn't respond, but she pokes his shoulder, exasperated.

“Well, have you apologized to them all yet?” Pansy asks impatiently, “I feel it’s about time you do. I already have.”

“No, I haven’t,” Draco pauses, considering, “I suppose I should probably apologize to Granger, though.”

Pansy raises an eyebrow, “Not the other two? Or even just the Golden Boy?”

“No. They wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say. Neither of them.”

“Fair point.”

Before starting Hogwarts this summer, he thoroughly considered composing letters consisting of cordial, sincere apologies for those he had harmed in some way. What ultimately stopped him was the realization that none of them would have been very receptive of his words while the wounds were so fresh. The only thought that would course through their heads while reading the letters would be _‘Death Eater_ ’.

“Anyway, I also found out from the Savior himself that he doesn’t want to get back together with She-Weasley,” Pansy declares.

His stomach flips at her words, but Draco ignores it. He knows that Potter will make up with her eventually. It’s practically his destiny after all; you couldn’t make a more perfect match than the Chosen One and his best friend’s sister.

“And why is that something I should know?”

“I just thought you’d find it...”

“Find it, _what_?” He pushes.

Pansy stares at him for a second, startled, and then breathes out while shaking her head dismissively, “Oh, nevermind.

After a moment, she grabs the hat from her head and tosses it to the floor, “Finally, I can take this stupid hat off. It bothers my ears.”

“How do you know I don’t have you as my target?”

“Because if you did you wouldn’t actually dare to go for me. You’d know better than to do that. Especially considering I’m the one who brings you coffee from the kitchens every morning, made perfectly to your liking.”

“Fair point,” Draco concedes. _Another_ reason he wouldn’t be able to get her out. 

She ruins the fun.

“So, Zacharias is such an idiot. Today I saw him walk through the corridors for several seconds before remembering to put his hat on. All we need to do is wait for him to leave class and shoot him as soon as we catch him without the hat on.”

“Why don’t we just steal his hat? I feel like that would be much more efficient.”

“Because it’s not allowed, McGonagall said! Also, we’ll just be called ‘cheating Slytherins’.”

“Who cares what she says. Also their assessment wouldn’t necessarily be incorrect—“

“I _know_ that and the last thing we need to do is fulfill the role they expect us to play as evil former Death Eaters and Death Eater children,” Pansy insists.

Draco gives in, knowing he shouldn’t push her. He knows she's right, but the thought of having to act noble for the sake of those who will never see them any differently makes his stomach turn.

“Alright, we can stalk him around the school I suppose. When should we first attempt this?”

“All we need to do is attack him before he starts to develop the habit of putting his hat on before leaving class. So, we’ll catch him right after his divination class this Friday. It’ll be early enough where he most likely won't have it on as he’s leaving, and we both have a free period during that time,” Pansy explains.

“Pansy, I’m afraid to ask, but how did you find out his timetable?”

“I don’t know the prat’s entire class _schedule_ , I just asked Blaise since he’s also in Divination for becoming an Unspeakable.”

“Blaise somehow knows _everything_ …”

“It’s a gift, I know,” Blaise says suddenly, leaning gracefully on the doorway, the bell on his hat jingling faintly, “What are you two hooligans up to?” He asks, moving to sit on Draco’s bed next to Pansy with Theo hot on his trail, placing himself beside Draco.

“Discussing how gorgeous you are,” Pansy drawls.

“As you should be, I don’t spend 40 minutes getting ready in the morning for nothing,” Blaise grins, sliding his hands carefully over his hair.

“And I thought _Draco_ took ages in the bathroom,” she groans.

“Oh Pansy, you’re just jealous of my undeniable beauty,” Draco grins.

Pansy and Blaise laugh, and Draco turns to meet Theo’s eyes, an intense and unreadable expression on his face. Draco decides to ignore him.

“Ok, enough of your vanity. Theo, where’s your hat?” Pansy asks.

“I’m not playing,” Theo says simply with a shrug.

“Oh don’t be such a killjoy, play with us! Tell us who you have and we’ll help you get them out,” Pansy asserts. 

“Susan Bones,” he tells her boredly.

“Another Hufflepuff? That should be a breeze,” Pansy says joyfully.

“Wait, _another_ you say? So do _you_ have a Hufflepuff as your target? Pansy, why must you keep secrets. I thought I was your best friend. Best Friends tell each other everything,” Blaise gasps, indignantly.

“Yes, that’s correct. So it’s exactly why I know who her target is and you don’t,” Draco smirks. Blaise flashes him scowl, which draws a laugh out of him.

“Nice try Blaise, you’re just going to ruin it. I don’t even know who your target is, so why should I tell you mine?” Pansy argues.

“Because I have the perfect plan and I want it to be a surprise,” Blaise says mischievously. 

“Well, so do Draco and I!” Pansy counters.

“I bet you do, I wouldn’t expect a mediocre plan from either of you. So go make the Slytherins proud.”

Draco and Pansy share a look, grinning.

*** 

Draco stands with Pansy in the corridor on Friday afternoon, waiting anxiously, and each second that passes causes his heart to pound harder in his chest. They’re hidden behind an alcove, out of sight, watching the trapdoor leading to the Divination classroom. Pansy keeps a firm grip on Draco’s shoulder, whether to ground him or reassure herself, Draco doesn’t know.

A few tense minutes later, they hear the opening of the latch, and students start climbing down the ladder one by one.

They wait as each student exits, ready for Smith’s appearance. Finally, Draco catches sight of him as he begins to descend the ladder.

The anger that floods through him at the sight of this wanker propels him to reveal himself, a devious smirk on his face.

“Hello, Smith, enjoy Divination? I would assume your grade is suffering if you couldn’t see this coming in your future.” Draco drawls.

Smith freezes on the ladder before jumping off, landing in a sprint, “Get away from me. Death Eater scum!” He yells, sprinting down the hall.

Draco had prepared for this, however, and he casts a tripping jinx, sending Smith crashing to the ground, landing flat on his face. As Draco strides up to him, Pansy runs to catch up and shoots Smith in the back with the water gun as he groans on the ground, in pain. 

Draco and Pansy turn to each other and nod in triumph, smiles gracing both their faces. This reminds him of fifth year when the Slytherins caught all the members of Potter’s stupid defense club. He beams at the memory.

“Hey, that doesn’t count! You cheated!” Smith accuses Draco, a look of pure rage on his face.

“Actually, runt, it wasn’t cheating,” Coach Sylvester appears unannounced, “That was called skill, which, unfortunately you seem to lack. It’s not their fault your penguin legs can't do more than waddle a few feet down the corridor. Now get up or you’ll squash the egg you’re carrying between your feet,” She demands impatiently.

Smith clambers to his feet, eyes sparked with fury, “But they tripped me, didn’t you see?”

“Yes, I did and I have to say it was quite impressive. But Malfoy here was not your assassin, it was Pansy, and there’s no rule against another person in the game hexing you. So go cry to your _mummy_ about it.”

Smith looks Draco dead in the eye, “You’re gonna pay for this, _Malfoy,”_ He snarls and storms off.

Draco bristles at the threat, realizing Pansy may have been right about needing to avoid Slytherin tactics in this game. But in his defense, it's practically second nature for him to resort to those techniques; It’s hard to break such a habit.

“Waddle away, Happy Feet! But don’t forget to keep your egg warm!” Coach Sylvester shouts.

“Wait, how do I know who his target was?” Pansy asks.

“Check your pockets,” Coach Sylvester says.

“But I don’t have any…” Pansy slowly reaches into her shirt where she pulls out a small piece of parchment, which Draco assumes was stuck in her bra. She unfolds it and lets out a loud gasp, dropping it like it burned her.

Coach Sylvester ignores her and faces Draco, “I underestimated you Draco, I like your style. Don’t tell anyone I said this, but you remind me of a young, ambitious Sue Sylvester who stepped over everyone in her path in order to climb to the top. Keep it up,” She says proudly, “Now, I have to go corral a bunch of bratty first year Piffindorps or whatever their house is called and make sure none of them fall off their brooms.”

Draco blinks, unsure of how to respond to that. He simply nods, which seems to satisfy her, because she walks off without another word. Once Coach Sylvester is out of sight, Draco turns to Pansy who is trembling slightly, eyes glued to the floor in shock.

“What? Who did he have?” He asks nervously.

Pansy doesn’t respond for a moment, and just when Draco is about to dismiss it she answers, “He— he had… _Potter_ ,” She stammers, eyes wide with terror as she glances up at him.

Draco isn’t sure if he should be laughing or screaming. He always thinks that _he’s_ the one usually short of luck, but it seems that today the odds are not in Pansy’s favor.

Pansy wraps her arms around herself and looks back down, shaking her head, “I can’t do this, there’s no way. I don’t want to play anymore,” She whimpers, her eyes welling with tears.

Draco panics and scrambles to think of how to reassure her, “No, my Pan Pan, don’t cry. Potter is too noble to think anything of it. He wouldn’t call you a slimy Death Eater if you tagged him. And… it would be good to show him he’s not the best, wouldn’t it?” Draco tries warily.

Pansy ignores him and, in a flash, her face turns furious, “Why did you trip Smith! Now he’s going to tell everyone that we’re cheating Slytherins! That was the _one_ thing I wanted to avoid. And the only person backing us up is Coach Sylvester, but who’s going to believe her? No one likes her!” Pansy cries frantically.

Draco’s eyes widen at the abrupt transition, and he slowly reaches out, grabbing her shoulders to calm her down, “Hey, listen to me, it’s going to be okay. Everyone knows that Smith is full of it. This is going to blow over, I promise,” He says earnestly.

Her scowl breaks and abruptly, she embraces him, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

“I hate this,” She says despairingly, her cheek resting against his chest.

“I know,” Draco responds, returning the hug and stroking her hair.

Eventually, once Pansy regains control of her breathing and wipes the tears away, they make their way back to the eighth-year common room. Upon entering through the portrait, they receive a mix of death glares from the Hufflepuffs and conflicted, suspicious expressions from the other houses; most likely due to the fact that everyone thinks Smith is an insufferable git. 

“Ah yes, I know. My hair is looking extra voluminous today. I spent more time combing it in honor of the weekend. Now, carry on, nothing else to see here,” Draco says, embodying his haughty, Pureblood persona.

“How’d you do it Malfoy?” Fletchley accuses, sitting beside Smith whose smirking at Draco venomously.

“Well, I won’t reveal the name, but I use a special product imported from France—”

“Did you use dark arts? Learned something from your Death Eater Father—”

“That’s quite enough, thank you.” Blaise says, sliding up next to Draco, slipping his arm around his shoulders, “I think we should all heed McGonagall’s words regarding inter-house unity, yes?”

“But you cheated! McGonagall said you can’t attack your target, that the magic prevents that!” Weasley shouts.

“It amuses me that you assume I’m powerful enough to break the magic involved. Although, it doesn’t quite surprise me that you think so. You didn't even believe your best friend when he said he didn’t place his name in the Goblet of Fire back in fourth year. You just lack the common sense you

“Enough!” Potter shouts, eyes zeroed in on Draco, his searing tone gaining everyone’s attention. “Zabini is right. What was the point of anything that happened here if we’re just going to accuse people of the worst. This is supposed to be a game that bonds us together rather than one that tears us apart. So everyone just leave Malfoy alone, alright?” He commands firmly.

Normally, Draco would be grateful for the defense, however, he doesn’t needs Potter’s pity, “Oh so everyone listens to the Chosen One when he says to stop, but not Blaise. How—”

“ _Malfoy_ ,” Potter reproves.

A familiar thrill spreads through his veins, giving him the urge to push Potter further, “Despite what you may think, I don't bow down to you Oh Great Chosen One. I have the right to this common room just as much as you and your—” Suddenly he feels a hand grab his arm, tugging insistently at his robe.

“Draco,” Pansy whispers, anxiety laced in her words, “Let’s just go. _Please_.”

“Come on, forget these imbeciles,” Blaise mutters.

At the look of terror on Pansy’s face, Draco relents, “Fine,” He breathes, “But you haven't seen the last of me and my evil schemes. Beware of my wicked blood rituals, Weasley you could be next! Watch your fingernails!” He calls as Blaise and Pansy drag him up the stairs to the dorms. 

The three of them make their way to Draco’s room due to its proximity and they lay on his bed, the boys on either side of Pansy. She curls into Blaise, releasing her pent up tears on his shirt, and Draco strokes her back soothingly.

They remain silent until several minutes later when Greg stumbles into the room, “Draco, did you really use dark magic to get Smith out?”

“No, it was just a tripping hex. And Smith wasn’t my target, so that’s why I was able to do it.”

Greg grunts in response and moves toward his bed to lounge on it.

“Yeah, actually who _is_ your target, you never told me.” Pansy asks, wiping her tears away as she turns to look at him, her eyes wide.

“I don't think now is the time.”

Pansy pouts her lip, “It’ll make me feel better.”

Damnit.

“Well…” Draco trails off and just stares at her guiltily until the realization sinks in, her red-rimmed eyes widening even further in shock, “You _do_ have me, don't you! Oh Merlin!”

Draco braces for an attack, but it never comes. Instead, she grabs his hands and leans in close to his face, “You have to get me out, I can’t get Potter out! Please Draco!” She pleads, the grip of her hands becoming painful.

“No, just don’t target him at all, it’s not like you _have_ to play. Let the Golden boy win as he’s expected to so his fan club can praise him for it.”

“At least I don't have to wear that awful hat anymore,” She says with a flourish, chucking the hat off, landing on the bed with a jingle.

Suddenly, Millie appears at the door, holding her gun out in front of her, which almost startles him off the bed. She puts it away once she examines the situation, “Don’t worry, I handled it. They should all leave you alone now.”

They all freeze up in fear. That’s not a flimsy claim coming from Millie. Not the girl who shaved Pansy’s when she used the last of Millie’s shampoo during second year. She refused to grow it back until the following day, which, for Pansy, was considered utter torture.

“Should I ask how you managed that?” Blaise asks warily.

“No.”

At that moment, Theo appears from the door to their shared bathroom. He frowns in confusion at the sight of Pansy, “What’s the matter Pans? Did you lose an earring?” He asks innocently.

Pansy throws a pillow at his face.

“Hey, it was a serious question!” He defends, tossing the pillow back on Draco’s bed.

“No, you dolt, if you weren’t such a swot and left the dorm every once in a while, you’d know that Smith is spreading around that Draco cheated in the game. She also found out that Potter was apparently his previous target.” Blaise corrects.

Theo gapes, his casual demeanor dissolving instantly. He quickly collects himself, and forms a neutral expression, “Do you want some tea and biscuits from the kitchens?” He tries.

Pansy nods, returning to her previous position and cuddling closer to Blaise.

Theo glances at Draco quickly before looking past him towards the wall, swallowing intently.

“Draco, want to come with me?”

“Make sure to get my favorite biscuits. The ones I make sure the houselves keep there for me,” She mumbles before Draco has a chance to even answer. 

“Alright,” He says reassuringly, patting her back before getting off the bed to follow Theo out into the hall.

“So what happened when you went after Smith?” He asks once they're both out of earshot.

“He was running away like he saw a dementor, and I sent him a tripping jinx so Pansy could squirt him. Pretty simple.” Draco shrugs.

Theo frowns, considering, “So… how’s that cheating?”

“It’s not. But Smith ran his filthy mouth and told everyone that I was his target and that I somehow managed to breach the magic that prevents us from hexing our targets.”

Theo scoffs disbelievingly, “That’s like saying Potter actually put his name into the Goblet of Fire for the Triwizard Tournament…”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I said! But no, instead, these idiots think that because of the tattoo on my arm, I’m capable of mass destruction despite the fact that I couldn't even complete my only mission assigned to me against my will. It should be apparent that I would be inept in this game for the simple fact that I couldn’t execute a _real_ assassination, but instead, it seems that no one has any common sense.”

Theo makes a noise of agreement, knowing all too well what Draco went through during sixth year, and shakes his head in disbelief over the situation. They both pause their conversation once they reach the common room. Draco keeps his gaze forward, avoiding the stares he and Theo are receiving. He can sense Theo’s anxiety, hearing his breaths become more shallow, but Draco knows that he can hide it from others well.

As soon as they exit the portrait, they both release their breaths and relax their postures. Draco briefly squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, and Theo returns it with a warm smile. After a moment, they both start walking down the corridor side by side, their hands a hair’s breadth away from touching.

“I honestly can't wait to get out of here. As soon as I complete my NEWTs I’m moving to France,” Theo says.

“Sounds lovely,” Draco says, a twinge of jealousy slipping through his words.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Theo, I can’t,” Draco says sadly. He could never leave his parents behind. Or Pansy for that matter. He couldn't live with himself if he did

“Why not? We can be rid of the judgement. Away from the blood traitors and—“

“—I just _can’t_. I won't leave the others like that. Feel free to do so yourself, but I don't want to just run away.”

Theo sighs, “Just, please, think about it?”

Draco knows he won’t drop it if he refuses, “Fine,” he says, and they slip into silence.

It honestly sounds like paradise, exploring France with Theo, all the worries of the past behind them. But he knows that leaving will not erase his problems. And his family would never agree to move. His mother refuses to leave the Manor, so he would essentially be abandoning her. 

“You’re resilient, you know that?” Theo comments a few minutes later, keeping his tone casual, not daring to look directly at Draco.

Draco looks down at the ground to hide the faint blush on his cheeks, “Don’t flatter me, Theo.”

“I’m not. It’s true.”

“Did you insist I tag along with you just so you could come onto me?” He stops walking, the last of his minimal patience gone.

“No, I— I feel like I don't really see you much anymore. You’re always with Pansy. I just wanted a moment to talk to you alone, is all,” Theo admits, pausing beside him. He glances at Draco for a moment before looking away.

“Ah, well it's true, we are in fact lovers, you see, just shagging like bunnies!” Draco declares, throwing his arms up and turning to walk toward the portrait of the kitchens, which is a few steps away. 

“Draco,” Theo says fondly, placing a gentle hand on his arm, which drains all the irritation out of his system.

Draco stops and slowly drops his arms beside him, gazing into the stunning, light blue eyes that just don’t seem quite right. They’re soft, comforting. Like the sky on a clear day. When the bees buzz about and children play merrily until nightfall.

Draco could easily fall for Theo if he allowed himself to, because honestly, who wouldn't? Theo is wealthy and bright, with a witty and charming personality. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and soft, sandy hair with curls that fall over his forehead. Theo is everything a person could want in a boyfriend. His smile fills Draco with butterflies, swarming through his entire stomach. His touch sends shivers down his spine. And his voice is like warm honey sliding down Draco’s throat.

He knows that ideally, he needs someone who will save him, pull him out of the water, but what Draco truly desires, involuntarily, is someone who will fall right in with him without hesitation.

Theo leans in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, which leaves a lingering tingle in its place. Draco can’t budge from the spot. They stare at each other for a moment, a heavy intensity in the air. 

A moment later, Theo moves swiftly to the pear and tickles it, disappearing into the kitchen without another word.

Before Draco has a chance to move, he thinks he sees a figure move in his periphery, which is gone when he turns his head to look. He swears he caught a glimpse of someone, the cuff of dark trousers. Shaking it off, he follows Theo into the kitchen; He has more urgent matters to attend to.

“Don’t forget Pansy’s secret stash of dark chocolate digestives,” Draco calls, “I’d like to keep my eyebrows!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Taking a bit of a break because I need to catch up on school, but I will try to update soon. Feel free to comment any spelling or grammatical errors I made :)


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